


Those Who Favor Fire

by YourAverageBookworm



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, Post-Book: Carry On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourAverageBookworm/pseuds/YourAverageBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a million different ways either of them could have died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Favor Fire

There are a million different ways either of them could have died. They used to haunt Baz, both in his sleeping and waking hours.

In his dreams Snow runs him through with that fucking sword of his, his magic dancing through it like a current. The blade buries itself in Baz's chest and he wants to laugh because it hurts no worse than living with the boy for seven years has, than waking up knowing you love someone who will kill you some day.

Instead of blood its laughter bubbling up over Baz’s lips and instead of anger its relief. 

Do you thank the person you love for killing you when any of the alternatives would have been worse?

Or:

The thirst is too much, a heat scorching him from the inside out. There are no rats to be found in the catacombs for some reason and Snow turns up, poking and prodding and taunting him in an attempt to get him to reveal something, and so Baz snaps and lunges for him.

In this dream, Snow doesn't react quite fast enough. Baz drains him. (He's so, so thirsty and Snow is there and full of everything Baz isn't— love color nobleness life.) Snow's dead before he hits the ground, and Baz screams as he realizes what he's done. These dreams are highly improbable—Snow would go off like a flare as soon as Baz’s teeth touched his neck—but they’re still horrifying somehow.

Or even:

The fucking merwolves or griffins or even numpties (Baz still has nightmares about those six weeks and every time he wakes and curses himself for being so stupid but it still takes him a couple minutes stop shaking) kill Snow in a stupid accident. It would be an almost laughably ordinary death for someone hailed as the Chosen One, but Snow, for all his magic, is still uncomfortably mortal. (Once he stayed outside for too long and returned with half his body lobster red thanks to an ugly sunburn. Another time he fell down the stairs and had a bruise the size of a fist on his leg. Both times Baz made fun of him for weeks.) Baz learned a long time ago that death doesn’t care about power and knowledge, and sometimes it even seems to like twists of irony.

A million different ways. The mage sends Simon to his doom. Simon gets proof he’s a vampire and lights Baz up himself. The Old Families get tired of the fight and finally force Baz to go after Snow. A million ways, and all it would take is one.

The thing is Baz has always known he'd end in fire— he's a Pitch, fire runs through his blood; he's a vampire, they go up in flames; he's in love and it's burning him from the inside out. And Snow always seemed like the obvious death—the one laid out for him, that he's walked straight into willingly. For magic's sake, sometimes when the boy’s magic went off, his body practically gave off flames. Snow (despite the irony of his name) was the source of much of the fire in Baz's life, and for a while that's why Baz thought he loved him. In a pathetically, laughably suicidal kind of way. But of course Snow had to be more than just that—stupidly brave and noble and stubborn with a mole on his neck that he’d absentmindedly rub and a lock of hair that liked to stick out from the rest because he ran his hands through his hair when he was stressed. Baz knew he should hate him because he'd have to kill him, but it would be hard to think about that as he watched Snow curl up on his side as he slept and murmuring something about scones.

Some people are just destined to go out in a blaze. Baz knew he was one of them, and with all of the power Snow had (he really _was_ like a mini sun), Baz couldn’t picture anything else for him either. So that they’re both here, Baz drinking tea and Snow resting his head on Baz’s shoulder while reading his Normal school book, is almost unfathomable. 

“You’d better not be drinking all of my tea,” Snow says, and startles Baz from his thoughts. He hasn’t even looked up from his book.

Baz just shrugs. “It’s not my fault. You should have stocked up on coffee beans like I told you to earlier.”

There’s an amused huff. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually your servant.”

“I don’t know, I rather like the idea of having you at my beck and call, catering to my every need…” He grins and raises his eyebrows. (It’s still more of a sneer but Snow has realized that’s as close to a grin as Baz is ever going to get and so has started calling it that instead.)

Snow, still not looking up from his book, just shoves lightly at him. “I’m pretty sure your only ‘need’ is that your ego be pampered—you could survive purely on the compliments you get from those ridiculous suits of yours.”

“You _like_ my suits.”

To Baz’s amusement, Snow doesn’t disagree. Instead, he reaches over, snatches the mug from Baz’s hands, and raises it to his lips, but nothing comes out. “You _did_ drink all of my tea, didn’t you?”

Baz senses a pout coming on, and Crowley, they’re both 19 and fully independent, but Snow still pouts like a small child and Baz will do anything to make him stop. (Luckily, Snow hasn’t figured that out yet.) “Fine, I’ll go make you more. But you have to get off of me.” He adds the last part almost as an afterthought so he can pretend he at least won something.

The pout is averted, Snow moves, and Baz goes to put the kettle on the stove. As he waits for it to boil, he leans against the counter and watches Snow read. The boy really _is_ stupidly beautiful. He’s sitting in the sunlight and it’s lighting up his features—his furrowed brow, the curve of his nose, the mess of his hair as it falls onto his face. When he notices Baz watching him, he looks up and smiles, and after all this time it still feels a little bit like fire and Baz is so far gone.

The moment feels strangely domestic despite everything they’ve been through, and Baz thinks about how, by vanquishing the Humdrum, Snow has literally filled the holes he's created. He put out his own fire. Being this close to him, being _with_ him and just breathing and drinking his tea makes Baz begin to wonder if maybe he can do the same.

Maybe they can have this. A million different ways in which they don’t die.

“You’re lucky I love you, Snow.”

His smile widens. “Mm hmm.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing something in this fandom and Simon and Baz were so hard for me to write, I hope I did them justice... But yes! Carry On was really, really good and I loved it. This is my small contribution to this hopefully growing fandom because I think it deserves a lot of attention. Rainbow Rowell's a great writer and Simon and Baz were wonderfully complex and the whole thing was just great/ reminded me why I love stories :)  
> Title comes from Fire and Ice by Robert Frost. It doesn't have a whole lot to do with this fic, but I remember thinking as I was reading Carry On that Baz is definitely someone who would favor fire.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoyed it :)


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